


Trust Exercises

by misura



Category: Battle Creek (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mid-Canon, Milt Chamberlain is a Sex God
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-25 13:33:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16661941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: Russ comes up with a 100% foolproof plan to figure out Milt's secrets. (hint: it involves sex. Because people totally trust people they have sex with, right? It's not as if Russlikesit or anything.)





	Trust Exercises

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skieswideopen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skieswideopen/gifts).



"Hey, Font. Would you say that sex is about trust?"

Font blinked, which was fine - Russ supposed that _had_ come a bit out of the blue, but then, how the hell did you bring up a question like that in natural workplace conversation?

"I would say that _sex_ is what sex is about?" said Font, sounding like he wasn't certain. "Is this about Milt?" And make that: sounding like an idiot.

"Why would this be about Milt?" Russ asked, a bit - or, all right, a lot annoyed. "I asked you a question about sex. You think Milt is sexy? You think the only place that suit of his would look better than on that smoking hot bod of his would be on the floor of your bedroom? 'cause if you do, I think you've got a problem, and that problem is that you've got some serious issues."

"Um," Font said. "Okay? I was just asking?"

"Yeah? Kind of like I was asking you about something that's important to me, as a friend?"

Font looked like he wanted to back away slowly, which was impossible, due to Russ having cornered him at his desk. (Milt might have commented on that. Russ could imagine him smiling and saying something stupid about how Russ was making optimal use of the strategic space available to him, or the like.) "Sorry, could you repeat the question, maybe?"

"Sex," Russ said. "Trust. Yes or no?"

"Yes?" said Font. "I mean, you guys are going to both be naked and everything, so sure. Trust. Happy?"

" 'You guys'?" Russ repeated. "What's that supposed to mean: 'you guys'? What are you suggesting here? That I'm going to use sex to get Milt to trust me so that he'll finally, finally tell me all his dirty secrets?"

"I ... " Font opened his mouth and closed it again. "Maybe?"

"Think it'll work?"

"I ... "

"Don't answer that." Russ slapped his shoulder. "Good talk, man."

 

So, okay, it wasn't a _great_ plan. Quick, though, the way Russ looked at it. He'd saunter into Milt's office, drop a few hints about drinks after work, see if he got a nibble.

Not like he actually _wanted_ to have sex with the guy or anything. So if Milt didn't nibble, that was fine: one plan down, a gazillion more to go. No muss, no fuss.

If Milt did nibble, well - game on.

 

"Are you asking me out on a date?" Milt asked.

Milt was annoyingly observant sometimes. Also stupid, Russ reminded himself. "God, no," he said.

"Oh," Milt said. There might have been a hint of disappointment in his tone.

"But, I mean, you get a few drinks in me, and who knows where we might end up," Russ added.

Still wouldn't make it a 'date', obviously. Dates involved going somewhere with someone you actually liked, having a good time hanging out. Sure, you might end up having sex, but that was optional. Something that happened _after_ a date.

"On the floor, passed out from alcohol poisoning?" Milt said.

"You can't stand the heat, don't stand too close to the fire."

"I'm sorry, I don't know what you mean by that," Milt said.

"Don't worry about it," said Russ. "I've got you."

 

And then it all went wrong. Somehow. Somewhere. Russ wasn't sure what had happened, but he did have a pretty good idea of who to blame, on account of Milt being to blame for just about damn everything that was wrong with the world today.

"I think that may have been the greatest sex I've ever had in my life," Milt said.

"Gah," said Russ. He'd been fine with the sex, the sex had been the _point_ , only for some reason (okay, for the obvious reason, which was that Milt was a ridiculously good-looking guy, and everyone knew ridiculously good-looking guys sucked at sex) he'd expected it to be, well, kind of bad. Bad or, at best, average.

"Oh, sorry. Was it good for you, too?" Milt asked, oozing smugness and sincerity.

Russ noticed his hair looked mussed, but in a sexy kind of way. Like, most people, with mussy hair, they'd look like slobs, but with Milt, it only made him look more attractive. "Um," he said. "Sure. It was okay. I guess."

Milt grinned. "Okay? Sounds like I'll have to try a lot harder the second round."

Russ considered saying something along the lines of 'please don't, you might actually, genuinely end up killing me, and sure, it'd be a nice way to go, but what about that murder investigation we're working on?'. In the end, though, he decided to settle for a dignified yelp.

Besides, no way, no how was Milt going to actually be able to up his game. More likely, he'd hit Russ with everything he had the first time around, and now he was just trying to scare Russ off, or something.

Embarrassing, really, to realize how close he'd come to falling for it.

 

"Whoa," said Font.

"What?" Russ said. He didn't have a hangover. In fact, he felt pretty good. Embarrassed, humbled and considerably annoyed, but pretty good.

"You look - " Font gestured vaguely. "Good night, huh?"

"Have I got a hickey?" Russ frowned. It'd be just like Milt, he supposed, to pull something like that. Putting some sort of mark on Russ, so that all it'd take for people would be to take one look at him to know he'd been - "Bastard."

"I was going to say 'happy'," Font said. "Milt brought donuts, by the way. And eclairs. They're delicious."

"What a suck-up that guy is." Russ generally didn't turn down free treats, provided they came strings-free, but for Milt, he'd make an exception.

Font gave him a look.

"What? It's true."

"I imagine you might know more about that than I do," Font said. "So how's your masterplan working out?"

"Eat your donut and shut up."

"I got an eclair," said Font. "They're really great. You should try one."

 

Russ decided that 'if at first you don't succeed, try, try again' was a perfectly valid approach to his problem. On that note:

"How about we skip the drinks?" Milt said. "I mean, let's be honest. We're both adults. We know what this is really about."

"By all means, let's," said Russ. He was going to follow it up by asking Milt why he'd really been sent to Battle Creek, but Milt was already taking off his pants, which was - "Easy there, champ. We're still at work."

Milt shrugged. "It's late. Bet you and me are the only ones still here."

"So what?" Russ said. "I mean, even assuming that that's true, what's wrong with going home first? You know, with a bed and everything. We're grown men, for God's sake, not horny teenagers."

"I was thinking: desk sex?" Milt said. "Only I don't have a desk at home, so ... "

"So how is that _my_ problem?" Russ asked. "You forgot to buy a desk, that's on you. Nothing to do with me. Now, how about you pull up your pants like a big boy, and we'll go have dinner somewhere?"

Milt sighed. "Okay. You're right. I should - "

"Fine. But only this one time," Russ said.

 

"It's not working."

Font looked wary. "What's not working? And please don't say 'the sex'. I really don't want to hear about your sex life. Some stuff's personal, okay? As in: you keep it to yourself."

"The plan," Russ said. "I mean, sure we're having sex, but every time I ask something, he distracts me with sex. I think he's onto me. I think he knows what I'm doing, and he's just fucking with me."

"Well," said Font.

"Playing with me," Russ clarified. "Like I'm a mouse and he's a cat or something, except not really, because this mouse has got teeth and claws and a brains."

"And whiskers," Font said. "Some cheese, too, probably. So kind of like most mice."

"I'm ending this." Russ felt a great calm come over him, which let him know he'd made the right call. "I mean, it was a good try, but I failed. I'm a grown man. I can accept my failure and move on."

"Uh, right. Well, good for you, Russ. Good for you."

"Thanks, Font. You're a pal."

 

Milt's face fell. Russ felt the warm glow of victory or, if not victory, then at least a narrowly avoided defeat, which was the same thing, really.

"I thought we had a good thing going," Milt said.

"We did," said Russ. "Fact, we had a great thing. And now I choose to end it."

Milt blinked. "Why?" Lesser men might have sounded plaintive. Milt did not.

"I don't need to explain myself to you," Russ said. "I'm ending it. That's all you need to know. We're done. Over. Finito. So long and thanks for the memories."

Milt stared down at his desk and smiled. "Those are some pretty good memories."

Russ swallowed. Obviously, Milt was trying to play him. Bastard. "If you say so."

"All right." Milt looked up. "So how about making it official?"

Russ scoffed. "Making what official?"

"You and me, tonight, my place. Tomorrow morning, we'll have breakfast. You need to pick up your clothes, anyway," Milt said. "That shirt, your extra toothbrush. Might as well be practical about it."

"Yeah, sure," said Russ. "Whatever, man."

 

"Guh."

"Again?" Milt asked. "Damn. You really want to make this last one count, huh? See, this was a smart idea. And, I don't want to make you feel bad about this or something, but I'm really going to miss this. Us. I mean, we're still going to be working together as friends, but it's not quite the same, you know?"

"Ack," said Russ.

"You're right," Milt said. "Our relationship is about more than sex. I get it. And if I ever made you feel like I didn't, I deeply apologize."

"Er."

"Sorry, did you want to say something?"

"Don't stop. Did I tell you you should stop?"

"Well, you - " Milt said.

"Fine," said Russ. "Fine. We're not breaking up. Forget I mentioned anything. God. You happy now? We cool?"

"Thanks, Russ. Coming from you, that means a lot," Milt said. "So hey, if I offered you the choice right now between me telling you the real reason why I got sent to Battle Creek and me going on doing what I was doing, which would you pick?"

"I hate you so much right now. Honestly, you have no idea."

"Hypothetical."

"Kiss my ass."

"Option number three it is."


End file.
